


Untitled Gotham (Work in Progress)

by BathoryAngel



Category: DC - Fandom, Gotham (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:44:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BathoryAngel/pseuds/BathoryAngel
Summary: Takes place during gotham season 4 episode 18 with a few slight changes. Will be told from multiple view-points. Jim Gordan gets infected with a new gas from the scarecrow. This one makes him face the fears of others, after he was able to beat the first one. Due to this, Jim Gordan will be able to see into the backstory and fears of many of the villains of Gotham, as well as causing him to re-consider his relationships with all those he had previously done his best to despise. This is a work in progress, I am posting the first chapter now, but will be holding off on any further postings until I have the next few chapters written out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is completely fictional, and I own no rights to any of the characters within. It is un-beta'd (discounting the quick review my lovely brother provides me). It will remain a work in progress with slow updates until it is complete, when I will post all remaining chapters at once. Comments and reviews are appreciated and adored. Enjoy!

 

The hanger was large and open as the gang walked in. Oswald limping beside the others, surprisingly few maintainers about as the blimp they came for wasn’t scheduled to launch. A schedule that would mean nothing soon, if all went according to Jerome's plan. Scarecrow and the Hatter were beside them, along with some Arkham crazies that Jerome had liberated. The dreary sunlight filtered in, battling through the clouds to stream through dirty windows. The gas, the weapon, wheeled in behind, barrels bumping and clanking on the rusted old trolley. Oswald stepped forward, past the two pilots to stare up at the behemoth before them. A blimp. A blimp is what Jerome wanted them to use, an instrument for delivering his madness to the city. To Gotham. To Oswald's home. 

"What are you doing here? This is a restricted area!" One of the pilots had firmly stated, halting the rest of the group. Oswald hadn't heard him, still focusing on the aircraft. So much could go wrong with this plan. Or worse, everything could go right. Oswald was torn, conflicted beyond anything he had been for some time now. Following Jerome was utter insanity, had been from the start. He had followed the man for a time, out of survival, out of fear, out of a hope for profit and power to be made and held by him once more. But that hope had quickly died out. Jerome was smart, was cunning, and also completely insane. The anarchist wanted nothing more that chaos and madness. There was no profit to be made from that outcome, no power that Oswald would want to wield in a world gone mad. 

"Our cargo is too precious to waste." The wheezed voice of the scarecrow crackled through his mask. "Let me give you something I like to keep up my sleeves for times just like these." He continued, right before a jet of gas hissed from the contraption he wore, dosing one of the pilots. His panicked gasps and shouts of fear stuttered and echoed through the hanger, face burning and melting as his fellow pilot reached out in horror. "Oh my God!" He exclaimed, hands falling short in horror as his companion fell silent. Violence, death, horror, none of this was new for the Penguin. He had dealt out his fair share of it in the past. But there had always been reason behind it. Anger. Vengeance. Betrayal. Survival. An unfortunate necessity in his life. This however, Oswald found no justification for. And that is what terrified him the most. These idiots would be the downfall of his beloved home. 

"You can pilot this contraption alone sir?" The Hatter asked, stepping forward unaffected by the scene. 

"Yes. Yes." The pilot quickly stuttered, fear shaking his entire form. 

"Then look into my eyes." Hatter continued, pulling out his pocket watch, taking control of the man with every tick and subsequent tock.

Watching this all, the pieces finally started clicking into place for Oswald. His breathing sped up, mind racing as the plan formed and unfolded before his eyes. "The kidnappings." Oswald gasped, turning to the others. "The concert in the square." He stepped closer, eyes darting as his mind continued to paint a horrifying picture of the horrid events that would soon befall Gotham. "All to draw the biggest crowds so we can drop the laughing gas on them." A small smile had formed as he spoke, overjoyed at finally understanding what had been planned all along. The joy didn’t reach his eyes, however, and the smile died as the reality of his words sunk in. 

Exhales heavy, heart still racing with fear for his home, Oswald couldn’t stop the words escaping his lips. "This is madness!" Hoping they would see, hoping they would join him to stop Jerome. 

"Oswald, you don't appreciate the beauty of it all." Scarecrows stuttered words drew Oswald's attention as the lunatic stepped closer. "But Jerome was right." He growled, the sinister tone darkening even more as it left the mask. "You know, he anticipated your betrayal." The man continued, every word causing dread to curl in the pit of Oswald's stomach. He could do nothing more than look on in horror as Scarecrow went on. "That's right. You went to Gordon. Judas!" Suddenly, a bright flare of pain sparked in the back of Oswald's head, before the world around him went black. 

Oswald awoke to a loud buzzing filling his heard. Rolling his head in hopes to stretch and appease the ache that had settled there, he quickly felt his hands pulled back from his movements by the restraints holding him there. A moment of confusion passed in a blur as all his memories came tumbling back to the forefront of his mind. Looking around in horror, he took in the strange cockpit he sat in, the barrels filling most of the space. The city laid spread out before him, with only one other person there with him. The remaining pilot from the hanger, standing calmly at the wheel. 

"H-holy crap." He couldn’t help but exclaim. "Excuse me, sir." He said, turning to the pilot with a smile that came out as more of a grimace. "Could you help me?"

"No can do, sport." The pilot slowly drawled, focused still on the task at hand. "Gotta get this rig into position for the boss."

Oswald gaped, instantly recognizing the hypnotized state of the pilot. "And where is that?" He asked, having to make sure his assumption was correct. 

"Paisley Square." The pilot happily replied. "Almost there. Then I can drop the load. With this lever." The pilot placed his right hand on the large red knob that stood atop the lever to his side. Oswald had been looking around frantically in thought, planning his way for any possible scenario that ensured he lived and the chemicals did not infect his precious city. Unable to wait any longer, Oswald chose the direct route first, even if he highly doubted he would be successful. The binds were all too easy to rip off, which meant that either an imbecile had restrained him or he was meant to free himself. Oswald sincerely hoped it wasn't the latter. 

"Now you turn this thing around right now!" Oswald yelled, limping over as rage seethed through him. "Can you not see that-"

He was cut off by the large revolver suddenly aimed directly at his heart. Hands going up in compliance, fear took over his features as he prayed to whatever deity might be up there that that bastard Hatter hadn't hypnotized the man to kill him as well. 

"Like I said pal. No. Can. Do!" The pilot grit out, shaking as whatever the Hatter did to hypnotize him ensured complete compliance. Oswald continued to hold his hands in front of him, backing off in the hopes that the pilot would return to his task and let Oswald live. His foot hit the barrels, nearly causing him to stumble as he looked down in his continued retreat. The pilot turned around, resuming the task at hand. Oswald grit his teeth and clenched his still raised hands, realizing how difficult it would be to stop the man with that damn gun in play. He had come too far, raised and felled so many times to be forever silenced by this pawn in Jerome's foul plan. 

His options were bleak, being that they were who knows how high in the air trapped in this small room with the armed hypnotized pilot. There would be no one to his rescue, the Hatter most certainly wouldn't de-hypnotize the man. If anything, he would probably order him to kill Oswald then and there. Or worse, hypnotize Oswald himself. With no other way to stop the pilot through outside means, Oswald turned to himself. He had few friends left, none really. And his allies were few and far between, changing with the times as these madmen under Jerome rose to new heights within the cities underbelly. Besides, what would they be able to do for him anyways? It's not like they would be able to board the aircraft in time, or would even be successful with the hindrance of that revolver. Shooting it down was out of the question, for no matter how many lives were at stake, Oswald was a survivalist. He would save them, if he could. But they held no meaning for him. They were not worth his life. All those he would have died for have long since been buried. Dead or as good as dead to him as the familiar ache of betrayal clenched in his gut. 

Ed, though Oswald had let him leave, no longer meant anything to him. Oswald refused to give those feelings any acknowledgment, locking them away and destroying the key with the sound of a gunshot and the ice-cold tendrils of water filling his body. The warmth that had once filled him at the sight, the mention of his once-friend now only brought bitterness and pain. 

Butch had never been a true friend. A resented bully, an enemy loyal to fish turned puppet for his use by Zsasz. His betrayal had hurt immensely, as it resulted in the death of his mother, but it was too be expected. Oswald knew, deep in his mind, that no matter how helpful or loyal Butch had been, that it wouldn’t last forever. It made it easier to move on, to let him live after Oswald had time to grieve. 

Gabe had hurt more than he thought it would. The man was stupid, all muscle and no brains. A dog, really, but a loyal one. That is why his words that day in the greenhouse sent such rage and pain through him. A freak. Never truly loyal. Never giving any true respect. The brute had been there out of fear, and at his moment of weakness, turned against his former boss. Oswald does not regret killing him, only wishes his temper had been in check enough to think it through clearly. Perhaps use him for a time before disposing of him. Or maybe still kill him then and there, but make sure he suffered beforehand. Oswald doesn't dwell on it much, after all he can't change the past. 

Zsasz hurt him more than any of his other underlings. Victor had become more of a friend than employee to Oswald, standing by through thick and thin, ever loyal and ever viscous. He should have known it would happen, after all Victor had been loyal to Carmine for so long, the man was practically a father, a mentor to him. Then that bitch Sofia turned him from Oswald. The very woman who killed her own father, her counting on Zsasz's betrayal is what hurt the most. 

Martin had betrayed him as well. Albeit, it wasn’t something he had wanted to do, and he had returned to Oswald's confidence the first chance he could. The child held a special place in Oswald's heart. A son might not be the best way to describe Oswald's feelings for him, but there were many days when Oswald couldn't or didn't want to think of another way to explain the pride and warmth and fear and joy Martin brought him. Still, the boy was safe, far away. He may be alive, but it was important everyone believed him dead. He had already been used against Oswald once, and Oswald would be damned if it happened again. So he wasn't in the city, and he could not come back, which meant he could not help Oswald.

Jim was an enigma. Oswald had sought his friendship on so many occasions, only to be turned away again and again. It had hurt, each and every time that happened, even if Oswald had come to expect nothing more from the man. Still, he trusted him. Even though he would have turned him over to Ed for the slaughter. Even though he killed Fish. Even though he locked him away in Arkham to the torments of both patients and staff for a second time, Oswald could not shake that trust. It had dimmed, for sure, and grew and ebbed like the waves of the water Jim had dumped him in so long ago. Still, with nowhere else to turn, Jim was his only beacon of hope. 

Turning his back on the pilot, trusting no moves to be made so long as Oswald physically stayed back and allowed the blimp to continue its course, he pulled out his phone. Jim's number still sat there, transferred from phone to phone always, no matter how rocky their supposed friendship was or however many times Jim had betrayed him. Jim answered quickly, greeting him with a gruff verification Oswald being on the line. Curious, it would seem that Jim had been as meticulous in keeping his number as Oswald had been with his. 

"Jim! Jim, help me!" Oswald was doing his best to keep the panic at bay, knowing it would be a long shot if Jim even could or would help him. "They knocked me out a-and, and now I am in some blimp with-with that horrible gas a-and the pilot, h-he's been hypnotized! And I-I don't-"

"You're on the blimp?" Jim interrupted, full attention clearly turned to Oswald. 

"Yes. Yes! And you have to help me!" Oswald hissed, hoping for salvation but knowing in the back of his mind that Jim's first priority would be stopping the catastrophe. Still, he held out for one not being possible without the other. 

"No-no-no." Jim quickly responded, not in a tone that dismissed Oswald but instead steered the conversation in another direction. Oswald already knew that Jim had a plan before the words even came. "You're gonna help us. You're near the river. I need you to steer it over there."

Oswald felt his jaw drop in shock. As far as plans went, this one was pretty terrible in his opinion. Oswald rarely drove now, and for good reason. It always brought back memories of blood staining his cloths, tears staining his cheeks as he drove that godforsaken limo away from a still-breathing Galavan while his shoulder screamed in agony and the GCPD tore at his heels. Not to mention the fact that Oswald had not once even ridden in, let alone piloted a blimp before. Oh, and don't forget the gun, he wanted to add, the pilot has a gun Jim!

"Steer? A blimp?" Is what came out instead, followed by near-hysterical laughter. This was insane. Jim was insane. "Are you out of your mind, Jim? I don't even drive my own car!" He revealed, biting down on the reasoning behind it. Hopefully this would be enough for Jim to get the hint and come up with a better idea. 

"You don't, thousands will die. Maybe worse." Was the only response.

"And what's worse than that?" Oswald had to ask, panicked at the thought that there was more, something he might have missed. 

"How can you run an empire, in a city full of lunatics?" Jim replied brusquely, done with the conversation. Oswald felt white-hot rage build in him. How dare he? How dare Jim assume that Oswald cared nothing for those people below. Hadn't he seen all Oswald had done for this city? Cleaning it up of the filth and monsters, time and again, bringing in record lows for crimes. Taking care of the dirty work, all to make this city a better place. Yes, Oswald always profited from it, but there were many easier ways to go after that. Couldn't he see everything he had done to help those people? He was mayor, for god's sake! Flipping the phone shut, Oswald knew Jim wouldn’t do anything for him. He was alone up here. 

Putting the phone away, Oswald turned to wait. Surely the man would have to set the gun down at some point. If not, then the chance would be when he went to pull the lever. His hands would be full then, the shot might miss, Oswald might gain the upper hand-

Might, might, might. Oswald sighed, heart racing. He had taken chances before, put his life on the line knowingly and unknowingly time and time again. He had always had safeguards though, when he could help it. A plan behind the plan to keep him alive. This time, however, felt like the pier all over again. All alone, no backup and no plan, just a cold, hard gun and a man who he could not persuade to let him live. Adrenaline coursed through him, Oswald mentally rehearsing the steps he might take and the violence that could meet him in return. There was nothing else he could do, but plot and wait. 

After what seemed an eternity, the pilot set the revolver down and moved his hand to the lever. This was his chance. Mouth open, gulping in large breaths of air, Oswald rushed forward. "No!" He screamed, knowing time to be of the essence. He had to get there before the chemicals were freed. His hands locked atop the pilots, pushing against the pull as the lever inched downward. The pilot turned his other hand to the task as well, the two battling against the others strength as the blimp began to plummet. Footing was harder to keep, but the angle was working in Oswald's favor. Suddenly, the pilot reached for the gun. Oswald abandoned a hand to the pursuit as well, fighting to keep the pilot from reaching it first while also making sure to give no ground on the lever. 

The struggle was brief, the pilot returning his hand to the lever as Oswald reached for the gun. It clicked, further and further down as the pilot had his full strength pulling on the damn thing. Gun in hand, Oswald hit the other man with the momentum of a full swing, dropping him in an instant. Chemicals secure, pilot indisposed, Oswald now turned his attention to the blimp. There was no plan for this, no knowledge or training, only luck. Luck had always been hit-or-miss for him, but he was praying for luck to be on his side today. 

"U-uh. H-help. U-up. Up, up, up!" Oswald stuttered, grabbing the wheel and testing for any favorable response from the mechanism. "A-ah. U-uh. O-okay. Okay! Okay, okay!" Oswald continued, smiling as the fear slowly began to ebb with the rising of the blimp. "River. River. Where is the river?" The smile faded, replaced by the realization that he in fact had no idea where it was, much less if his luck would hold for him to fly there. Those below may now be safe, but Oswald knew he wasn't out of the woods yet. 

It took him longer than he would like to admit to reach the river. The blimp dipped low or angled dangerously high on numerous occasions. There were wrong turns. Over-steering. Under-steering. Loops back and sometimes back again. By the time he made it, the sun had dipped below the horizon, its fading rays already replaced by the gloom of dusk. Relaxed by the final victory in reaching his target, Oswald felt himself slowly releasing the tension that had held him ever since he awoke in this prison. Impatience began settling in its stead. He had been up here for what felt like days at this point. Surely Gordan would have been working on a way to get him down all this time. 

A shuffling sound caused him to turn slightly in curiosity. Suddenly, a ringing filled his ears as the loud crack of a gun being fired in close proximity sounded in the small enclosure. Pain exploded in his left shoulder, radiating out and amplifying the old ache of the scar Tabitha left that fateful night so long ago when Penguin had tried and failed to avenge his mother's murder. Tears sprung to his eyes, fear weighed his gut, and rage pounded his heart. The pilot was slowly lifting himself off the ground, expression blank and gun in his hand. Words tumbled from his mouth, some nonsense about the square and the boss, pulling the lever and dropping the load. 

Pain faded and fear lifted as rage filled every vein in Oswald's body. Screaming, he swung and dropped, the devastating right hook landing on the pilot's jaw. Wasting no time, Oswald emptied the gun into the unconscious man's chest. Only after, breaths heavy and adrenaline slowly ebbing did he notice the earpiece. Taking it out, Oswald was able to make out the shrilly pitch of the Hatter's voice as he brought the device closer. Snorting, he quickly dropped it to the floor and righteously stomped it to bits. So that was how the pilot remained hypnotized even after being knocked out. A recording, no doubt played on a loop. Clever on their part, sloppy on Oswald's. He should have noticed sooner. Should have killed the man sooner. The pain was coming back now, bringing clarity back to his situation. 

Plummeting, the blimp fell as no one halted its progress. Cursing, Oswald once more grabbed the wheel and did his best to right its course. Blood soaked his shirt and his shoulder throbbed. The bullet entered his back, a small pinpoint of agony that made its presence known. Out the front it came, leaving a gaping hole of torn edges at least five times the size of the entry wound. That would be the bigger problem of the two. It was difficult, fumbling for everything he needed to slow the blood while also maintaining the wheel with only one functional hand. But Oswald made due, pain and hardship were, after all, old friends to him at this point. His jacket was flung off the left shoulder to give better access. His handkerchief was balled up and draped across both wounds as best could be. His belt came next, looping securely to keep adequate pressure and allow the cloth to remain in place, soaking up what had to be too much blood in Oswald's opinion. His tie was repurposed as a sling, jacket being thrown back over his shoulder to try and keep in warmth. 

Next came his phone, dialing Jim on speaker as Oswald tightly gripped the wheel and hissed in pain. He hoped the detective would answer quickly once more, and he hoped that Jim had not been idle in the meantime. A quick rescue from this deathtrap was crucial now, not only for Oswald's survival. After all, if he lost consciousness or bled out, then the blimp and all the chemicals it contained would drop in the river, effectively infecting Gotham with its madness.

Jim answered on the fourth ring, greeting him with a simple, yet gruff, "Oswald." 

"Um. Hello." Was his reply, realizing that he hadn't properly thought through what he was actually going to say to Jim, the pain and blood loss beginning to make his brain go all fuzzy at the edges. "Will someone please get me the hell off this thing!" Anger, anger he knew well. He did well too. Jim responded to anger, it made him pay more attention. Or maybe it did the opposite. Oswald wasn't too sure anymore. 

Silence greeted him for a beat, before Jim's quick response. "Alright, we're on it." More silence, mumbled words as Jim talked to someone else away from the phone. "We'll get ahold of the standby pilot, have him advise. Sit tight." Jim returned to the phone, gruff and blunt as ever. "Oh, and Oswald Cobblepot? Gotham thanks you." The dismissal was smug to Oswald's ears, no doubt a jab from the detective. Dread curled in Oswald's gut, words escaping without thought. "Not for long."

"What?" Jim immediately shouted, sounding as if he had pulled the phone back to his ear right before he would have hung up. "What did you say? What are you planning, Cobblepot!"

"Planning? No-no. No planning. Just, all the blood. It's getting hard to think, detective." Oswald looked down at his shirt, frowning. The blood had soaked through all the way down to his waist, possibly further but it was hard to tell with the dark fabric of his trousers. 

"Blood?" Jim's voice sounded cold, not in the harsh sense, but as if a shiver settled down his spine as the words processed. 

"Yes. Blood. My blood. Well, the pilot's too, I suppose. But his is all on the floor. Mine is on my shirt. And on me. And the floor too as well-" Oswald was rambling, delirium settling it. Rambling, such a nice word, rambling. Oswald didn't ramble too often, it was nice. Just letting the thoughts in his head pour through his mouth. So relaxing. 

"What happened?" Jim cut it, curtailing Oswald's train of thought. 

"Oh, I shot the pilot. I mean, the pilot shot me. And then I shot him too, I suppose. He's dead now." Oswald looked back at the corpse, as if to make sure it hadn't decided to get up again. 

"Help is on the way. Just stay on the line, okay?" Jim's words pulled his attention forward once more, frowning as he righted the blimp as it had begun to veer left. He nodded in response to Jim's question, looking down at his shirt again. 

"Oswald?" Jim sounded panicked. It took Oswald a moment to realize that he couldn't see him nodding. 

"Okay." Oswald quietly replied. "Please hurry Jim." At the tone of Jim's voice, fear had taken residence inside him once more, bringing the sweet clarity of adrenaline with it. No doubt, the crash would come and leave Oswald exhausted. Hell, he was already exhausted. But he had a task to do. Keep the blimp in the air. Stay alive. Stay focused. For as long as he could. 

Jim kept talking to him, kept him awake and his mind as sharp as it could be at this point. There were short breaks and mumbled words in the conversation, no doubt Jim arranging with others how best to help. Finally, it seemed they had decided on a course of action. 

"Alright Oswald." Jim said. "We are going to get you down and get you to a hospital, alright?"

"NO!" Oswald couldn't help but shout. "No hospitals!"

"What do you mean no-"

But Penguin cut him off. "Jerome's gang, Jim. They know I betrayed them. They know I went to you!"

"That...complicates things." Jim conceded. "But we can keep you safe there. We can assign some uniforms-"

"Safe!" Oswald, once more interrupted. "Safe? When has a hospital ever kept anyone in Gotham safe, Jim?" Falcone flashed through his mind. The mayor. Countless underlings and no-ones who had gone missing or perished preternaturally at Gotham General. 

"Okay, okay." Jim quickly agreed. "No hospitals. I'll take you somewhere safe. Somewhere no one can find you."

"Promise?" Oswald shakily asked. 

"Promise." Jim firmly vowed. Oswald smiled, holding on to that. Jim was a man of his word, after all. 

The plan was quickly laid out from there. Oswald had to steer the blimp towards the bridge running over the river. There, Jim would be waiting with two pilots who would take over for Oswald. He would also bring a small medical kit to do what he could for Oswald in the meantime. The tricky part would be lowering the ladder. This blimp had a small ladder attached by the door that Oswald would have to free for the others to gain entry. Jim assured him that he would have 30 seconds to do so before needing to return to the wheel and right the blimp. Jim and the pilots were on their way and would be in position in five minutes. 

Oswald decided to get the hard part over with first. He angled the blimp as high as he dared to buy him more time. Once satisfied with the height, Oswald quickly abandoned the wheel and hobbled his way over to the door. Flinging it open, Oswald spied the ladder right where they said it would be. It was a simple rope contraption with metal rungs, rolled up and secured with two lanyards at eye level right beside the opening. Shoving his chest on the cold, hard doorframe for a small measure of security, Oswald avidly avoided looking down as he leaned out and reached to untie the first loop. It came undone relatively easily, a simple knot similar to what one might use to tie a shoe. 

The blimp abruptly dropped after that, jarring Oswald's shoulder as he nearly lost his footing. His vision went white, followed by a haze of black dots as his surroundings slowly came back into focus. Gritting his teeth in determination, the second lanyard followed the first and the ladder gracelessly unrolled in the wind below. Limping back to the wheel, Oswald for what felt like the hundredth time that day pulled the blimp back out of a dive before angling towards the bridge Jim had spoke of, keeping in mind to stay low enough for the ladder to be within reach. 

As promised, three men stood waiting atop Jim's car. Oswald gladly relinquished control of the wheel to the professionals, as Jim pulled him towards the back and sat him down. Or rather, Oswald collapsed as Jim guided him to the floor. There wasn't much Jim could do for now, what with the limited medical supplies and less than ideal setting. Still, Jim dabbed a bit of alcohol to the wounds after loosening the crude bandage Oswald had set in place. New dressings were applied and tightly wrapped before a blanket was draped around his shoulders. It was a scratchy, bright orange monstrosity. What was usually given to patients in shock. It was warm, however, and as Oswald fisted the material tighter around, he figured it served its purpose. Blood and tears, both fresh and old, continued to dry as Oswald decided he had quite enough of being awake. The last thought before he let himself be dragged under was that he was finally safe. Jim was here now. He would be safe.


	2. In Progess

This work is still in progress. Update time-frame is as of yet unplanned, however events in new episodes have the possibility to change or influence future chapters, so be wary of spoilers.


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